


Your love will be (safe with me)

by Thorin Odinson (jadestarboo)



Category: Ollie Klublershturf vs. the Nazis (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, M/M, Nazis, Not Beta Read, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadestarboo/pseuds/Thorin%20Odinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or five times Chad and Barry repeated themselves. And only one time they didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your love will be (safe with me)

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful, lovely, superbly talented [lengcp](http://lengcp.tumblr.com/). Who drew fanart for my other fic! I was so happy, I dedicate this to her. :)
> 
> I don’t own the [movie](http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/d8f611b770/ollie-klublershturf-vs-the-nazis), or the actors. I make no profits from this. The title belongs to the song “Re: Stacks” from Bon Iver’s masterpiece album: _For Emma, Forever Ago_.
> 
> I think it’s time for a little fluffy angst, don’t you? :)
> 
> Oh! And if you found this, I'm very impressed, since I really don't think the fandom exists at all!

 

 

 

_\---_

_Five times they repeated themselves, and one time they didn't._

**\---**

**V.**

Barry couldn’t stop the laugh that escapes his mouth. Honestly. He couldn’t.  
He looks  _terrible_.

Examining himself in the mirror, Barry plucks at the ill-fitting clothes. From the blue shirt, to the too-large, too red jacket, and the khakis that bag unattractively. He looks homely and definitely harmless to anybody. Especially with the touch of vintage spectacles that engulf his face, much less his eyes, which weren’t that big to begin with.

Who would even fall for this stupid get-up anyways? They’re supposed to be Bible thumpers. Not a comedic duo. Sure. Maybe they can pull it off if they said they represent a weird cult that invested in red shirts and ugly ties.

Looking over to his mission partner, Barry has half the mind not to openly stare.

Chad has the natural talent to look impeccable in any outfit. Yes, even with a bright red shirt and the ugliest black and white polka-dotted tie ever to exist. He still manages to look like he was carved out of stone with the most love and adoration from Michelangelo himself.

Groaning, Barry turns back to the mirror and quietly smacks his head into it.

Chad looks at him with a raised brow, practically high enough it’s threatening to disappear into his hairline, but doesn’t say anything. He just throws him an amused smirk before turning his attention back to adjusting his hideous tie in the mirror.

\---

That night they found themselves in front of the door of the Klublershturf household, suitcases in hand and rehearsing their lines in their heads. Back at the motel they had practiced lines over and over to each other while Daniela had already left to meet up with the eldest Klublershturf son in a local café.

“Nervous?” Barry asks, eyeing Chad’s hand grasping the suitcase handle so tightly his knuckles turned a pale while.

“Me? Nah, when am I ever nervous?” Chad says and smiles.

Barry snorts in disbelief and waves a dismissive hand at Chad’s death grip.

“Maybe right now? Isn't this your first undercover mission… ever?”

A silence settled upon them, and the grip on the handle seems to get even more death-like. Barry knows that if he wanted to, Chad could easily bend the material to fit the molds of his fingers. He’s not a big guy, but he’s built with muscles. Muscles that can kill a man with a few punches.

“You sure you don’t want to talk…?” Barry begins to ask, but Chad just clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. That's universal for 'no, I don't want to, thank you very much' and Barry shuts his mouth.

One thing that Barry finds strange about Chad is the fact that as loud as he is, with his boisterous laughter and the deep tremor of his voice, he’s a private fellow. Sharing doesn’t seem to be on top of his list in how to interact with others. He has a tendency to point out things that happen in other people’s lives or outside of the Nazi base. But the way he presents himself puts others to ease; they feel as if he is sharing everything with them, when he isn't. He gives them a false sense of companionship.

If Barry asks another person where Chad is from, there’s always this priceless moment. This moment of shock that settles on their faces, a look of discomfort as they realize that they have no idea.

Barry takes pride in being the only one who was able to break that wall that Chad had built over the years of his life. He knows Chad is from Idaho, and he grew up with only his mother and older sister, his father had been arrested for domestic abuse. But that’s the extent of his knowledge, aside from little tidbits of stories of his childhood and teenage years.

To him, it was better than nothing.

When Chad doesn’t respond to Barry’s question, he can’t say he’s surprised. But he is surprised when Chad turns his head to look at him. Not a glance, but really looks.

With their height difference, Chad has to angle his head to peer down at Barry. But his eyes are the bluest Barry’s ever seen them. They’re shining in the dark, as if he’s trying to pick apart Barry. To see what he is made of and why he’s even here.

Barry opens his mouth to say something, but Chad reaches out with his free hand to briefly brush against Barry’s. His eyes are still so blue.

Then he quickly retreats back, before Barry could grab hold of the calloused fingers that were just touching him, and leans forward, ringing the doorbell.

It’s a high pitched, classical sound. Something you hear and expect a happy couple opening the door with toothy grins, children and a large dog running in the background.

“We got this,” Chad says, “I’m a natural born actor, so don’t worry about anything.”

Barry snorts again; about to reply with a scathing remark when he sees that Chad’s ugly black and white polka-dotted tie is crooked. No, it’s  _screaming_  to be adjusted. It’s so skewed Barry has to stop and stare, wondering how the hell it managed to get like that.

“Hold on,” Barry mumbles, and quickly puts his suitcase on the ground, before turning Chad around with a hand on his broad shoulder. Chad comes easily and stumbles a little from the sudden force. “Your tie is fucking messed up, man.”

He reaches up to grab the knot-

_They’re heading towards the door and Chad is much more relaxed, smiling easily. His shoulders slumped naturally; his grip on his suitcase is loose and friendly. They’re standing side-by-side and cracking jokes._

_“I’m nervous cause it’s my first undercover mission, Barry, what do you think?”_

_They’re waiting at the door and Chad is running his large hands over his shorn head, but he’s still laughing._

_“What was my line again? Help me out here, Barry, she’s almost at the door!”_

_They ring the doorbell and Chad cracks up audibly at the sound. Barry had to calm him down before Mrs. Klublershturf opens the door._

_“Do you think they’ll change their doorbell sometime? God, I feel old like you when I hear it.”_

_They’re heading towards the door, when Chad looks down and frowns._

_“Hey, dude, is my tie crooked?”_

_Barry didn’t even notice, but he sighs and reaches over to grab the knot-_

The sudden sense of déjà vu floors Barry. A flood of different nights, or was it the same, each with unspoken questions flashes before him. For some reason, he knows answers on the tip of his tongue, but it’s caught like cotton in his mouth, because at the same time, he has no idea what the words are. In front of him Chad isn’t moving his mouth. It’s in a straight line and closed tightly.

The rough cloth beneath his fingers shouldn’t feel so familiar, but it does. He mindlessly adjusts the tie, in a manner so practiced; and he’s not even sure from where. Then he sooths his hands over the red, red shirt.

Chad’s eyes are still so blue, but his mouth is a tight line.

“Thanks Barry,” Is all he says.

\---

**IV.**

Normally Barry enjoys spearmint gum more than anything, but Chad only shrugs as he hands him the pack of cinnamon gum sticks he had found in his suitcase.

“Sorry man, I only have these,” Chad apologizes out of politeness.

Barry contemplates whether or not he should, since they’re going on the mission soon. They’re sitting in their hotel, on separate twin beds, waiting for the clock to strike six. At seven they’ll go ring the doorbell of the Klublershturf’s house dressed as bible sellers with a bad sense of fashion.

Screw it. He takes one anyways. Chad smiles like he knew he would and pops in his own gum, chewing with fervor. Barry opens his wrapper carefully, surprised to see how red the stick is. It’s bright and embedded with flecks of dark red crystals.

Barry breaks the gum in two before popping in one, waiting ten seconds, then popping in the other. The cinnamon is so strong and courses through Barry’s senses, from the tingling of his tongue to the burning smell of spice. But it fades just as fast, as if he’s adapted to it. Something about it gives Barry the feeling he’s had this gum before, even if he’s never strayed far from mint or fruit flavors.

“Good stuff, huh?” Chad asks.

Despite the feeling, his body still rejects the assault on his senses. Barry may or may not have choked a little, tearing up at the corners of his eyes before managing to answer back. “Yeah, man. Great stuff.”

A laugh bursts forth from Chad, and he continues to chew like a cow.

“That’s disgusting, can’t you chew normally?” Barry makes a face.

Chad stops chewing and looks as if he’s thinking really hard about the question.

Barry holds his breath, looking at him expectantly.

Then Chad just throws him a smug smirk before continuing to graze his gum. Even louder this time. Like he’s trying to make it clear to Barry he’s content being a cow. Nice, Chad, now that’s just a beautiful sight to behold.

A twitch makes its way to his eye, but Barry remains quiet, not daring to rise up to the challenge Chad is clearly setting up for him. They sat there for many more minutes before pulling out a deck of cards from Chad’s suitcase. Which, now to think of it, what does he stash in there anyways? They play a friendly game of spoons, afterwards a not-so-friendly game of go fish. They use the sticks of cinnamon gum from the still full packet.

“Hey! Did you cheat? I swear, you’re cheating,” Barry accuses as Chad wins another round. They have leave in five minutes, might as well end the game now.

“No, you just suck, man,” Chad says, and collects his winnings. They had finished their gum already, and spat out the wad of tasteless, hard, cinnamon into the garbage.

“How can anyone suck at  _go-fish_?” Barry says incredulously. “It’s a game of chance! Honestly, Chad. I have the right to believe that you’re cheating. You cheating bastard.”

A shrug from insanely broad shoulders is all Barry gets, and he throws his hands up in defeat. Chad gathers up the cards and he begins to shuffle them as Barry left to the bathroom.

After his business, he washes his hands. Leaning over the sink, he looks in the mirror, and now looking at his reflection, Barry has to admit that the glasses aren’t so bad. But their get-up is still really ugly. But he’s still kind of hung up on Chad’s insane winning streak. He knows people can’t suck at go-fish, it’s a game taught to kids as they were children. It’s a game based on chance, random ratios of winning to losing. It’s pretty mind blowing, actually. Maybe Chad is just really good at everything he does.

(Except gymnastics. Barry will never forget the sight of Chad in a leotard, flailing about on the mats. Or the way he glared as Barry effortlessly did four consecutive back flips.)

When enters the room again, Chad is sitting on the bed, where Barry had left him before. In his hands is the deck of cards, but the younger man is listlessly shuffling them in a sluggish motion. His usual bright visage is bleak, his mouth turned in a small frown, his eyes clouded over, as if he’s not here at all.

Barry takes a step forward.

“Chad?”

The instant Barry spoke, Chad’s head immediately whips towards him.

“Woah, jesus! You okay there, man?”

Chad opens and closes his mouth, seemingly unsure of what to say. Instead he puts the cards down on the bed, wipes his hands on his khakis and checks the clock on the wall. Before Barry has a chance to move, he grabs his suitcase hastily, standing up and walking over to the door. He turns around to face Barry.

“Yeah, I uh,” Chad licks his lips and looks everywhere but in Barry’s direction, “We should go now. Don’t want to keep Daniela waiting.”

The only thing Barry could do is nod, eyeing the younger man suspiciously. But nonetheless he grabs his own suitcase and oversized red jacket, slinging it over his arm. He walks next to Chad, as Chad flicks off the lights and opens the door.

Out of his ingrained politeness, Chad holds open the door for Barry silhouetted by the orange hall lights flooding the dark room, looking at him expectantly.

When Barry moves forward, he hears Chad’s breathing hitch.

“Something to say?” Barry asks as he steps out.

Chad is still standing there, holding the door, staring the spot Barry occupied.

“I’m a cheater Barry,” Chad says. His face darkened by the shadows, looking surly at the ground, “I knew what cards you were going to play, I just had this feeling.”

Well, that's just weird. Barry looks at him, unsure if he should laugh or not.

An awkward silence falls instead. But as quickly as it came, it was interrupted when Chad snaps out of his stupor and shuts the door. The click of the lock a reassuring sound for some reason. Suddenly Chad turns to him and smiles brightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m a mind-reader, Barry! I swear I am, maybe it’s from that time I accidently drank some nasty river water in Massachusetts that one time, remember?” Chad bursts out happily, “Maybe it just took months for it to change me, you know?”

Barry decides to laugh at that. Just to fill the dreading feeling that something is wrong.

\---

Chad offers him another stick of the bright red cinnamon gum when they’re in front of the door.

When Barry chews it, he tastes something old in it, and feels the burn of the spice flooding his eyes. But it doesn’t hurt as much as before.

\---

**III.**

Blood is everywhere. It’s seeping into the carpet. It’s dark red, staining a bright red shirt a shade darker. There’s so much red. Daniela is calm as usual, but her hair is in disarray as she slams drawers in their hotel room muttering under her breath as she looks for the tourniquets.

There’s a body on the bed, and he’s covered in the metallic body fluid. His blue eyes are shut; his skin tinged an ill shade of pale.

On one side of the bed Barry is having a panic attack, his hands are shaking as he threads them through shorn hair, watching Daniela run around the room. He can’t hear her very well, but he knew she was cursing the mission, their stupidity, and the kid’s intelligence.

“It’s in the bathroom,” Barry tells her, his voice cracks and he turns to look at the body on the bed, “The first aid kit is in the bathroom.”

Daniela tightens her red lips and walks briskly to the bathroom.

He hears some more slamming before she returns to the room and quickly begins stripping Chad from his red (too red) shirt. Barry helps a little before he has to stop when Daniela snaps at him that he’s in no shape to be helping out with an injured man.

“You’re going to make it worse, Barry,” She says, her eyes stern.

 _Worse?_  Barry wants to scream.  _How can I make it worse when I know he’s going to die? He’s going to bleed dry. I know it, I just know it._

The only thing he manages to say, though, is a small agreeing noise. Automatically, he backs up, giving her room as she leans over and continues to treat Chad's wounds. He finds himself outside on the balcony. He needs the fresh air. Not the musky scent of blood. And the beginning of death.

He can’t remember how it happened; it was just a blur of motions. What he does remember is the moment when they were running from the house, when all of the sudden Mr. Klublershturf is standing in the doorway with an automatic shotgun, shooting as they retreated. He does remember the sight of Chad falling as a bullet hits his shoulder, then somewhere on his chest. Daniela had grabbed her own gun and shot the man in retaliation. 

Luckily Barry was there to catch Chad as he pitched forward. To feel Chad’s breath become wet as they drive away quickly. To see his skin become clammy. To hear his pulse sluggishly thump along with the bumps on the road.

Now the air outside is cold, it bites Barry’s skin. But he still stands there, looking out to the illuminated city lights. He waits.

\---

Something is wrong.

When Daniela begins to yell for Barry to come in, he knows something is wrong. Even when he had felt that Chad won’t make it, it’s nothing like this. Like the actual moment, and how dread seized his heart and clutched tight, not letting go.

He rushes in, and immediately grabs their defibrillator. Daniela looks panicked and moves aside quickly.

Barry rubs the pads together, warming the electricity.

“Clear!” He says, and presses down on Chad’s halfway bandaged body.

The body jolts, a quiet wet cough escapes, and then goes limp.

“Clear!”

Barry feels the aftermath of the shock run up his arms. The body jolts, no noise was made, and it goes limp again.

“Clear!”

Daniela looks away.

“Clear!”

A gasp.

\---

They waited by the bedside, for another 20 minutes. Just to make sure.

Daniela pulls out her cellphone and dials the number of Commander Huber. She excuses herself outside, not before looking back at Barry, then at Chad. Her eyes walled up, her face set in stone. She turns quickly and exits, shutting the door softly behind her.

Barry shifts closer to the bed, the defib unit sitting on the tableside, and takes Chad’s hand. He shuts his eyes so tight he begins to see colors and bright flashes. When he opens them again, they linger in his vision, dancing warmly around Chad’s body.

It makes the sight better somehow.

He leans over, and stoops down low to whisper in Chad’s ear.

“I’ve seen this before,” Barry says, and he doesn’t want to know why. But it doesn’t matter.

Chad can’t hear him anymore 

\---

**II.**

Their motel room is right next to a busy road. In the daytime, the road is cluttered, and the both of them can hear the cars pass by, pedestrians chattering loudly. Occasionally there would be a period of silence.

Only at night is it completely dead to the world.

The only sounds they hear are their own breaths. Hitched in the dark. A gasp, a moan. The creaking of the rusty bedframe. Chad’s dirty, filthy mummers, filling up the silence. Barry would keen, he would whine, he would softly plead. Chad would always answer,  _yes_.

The only things they see are red. Barry’s wet, red lips. They open sweetly for Chad’s red-tipped, swollen cock. He runs his red lips over the head, down the thick shaft, watching as Chad’s red and warm finger tips run through his hair.

_You’re so good at this. It’s like you know-_

Barry just moans around his mouthful, cutting off Chad’s sentence. The heady taste, the smell so strong, the need for  _more_. He shoves himself forward on his knees, pushing the cock deeper in his mouth, letting his throat flutter around the tip.

_That’s it. Oh, right there. God. So good for me. So good._

Encouraged, he goes faster, bobbing his head up and down to an uncoordinated rhythm. Chad just makes a low noise from his throat and squeezes his thighs together, clasping the sides of Barry’s head.

\---

Now they’re facing towards each other. Chad has crescent nail marks up and down the expanse of his back. Each one of them grows redder as he pushes more into Barry, the exertion pumping his blood through his veins, pushing to the surface of his skin.  

Barry is flushed, his cheeks painted red, the tips of his ears.

_Chad, Chad, Chad. Oh fuck! Fuck! Chad! More, more, more. Give it to me, fuck me, fuck me._

_Yes, Barry. Oh fuck, yes_.

And he fucks himself harder, deeper into the willing body beneath him. Watches as the blankets around them create knots and weave into each other with each thrust he makes. He wants to spill his seed into the fucked open hole. He wants to soil the pale skin spread out just for him.

Barry tightens his hold, arms around Chad’s broad shoulders, his nails digging in even deeper. His teeth find themselves latching onto the bared neck. Chad hits his sweet spot and Barry’s chest begins heaving up and down. Chad bites down hard on the soft flesh, wet with sweat.

He licks an apology. Barry squirms, tightening around his cock. Chad grunts in response and grabs the older man’s waists, and lifts him from the mattress. Barry easily goes. He ends up sprawled on Chad’s lap, knees framing the sides of Chad’s hips. His large hands wraps around soft flesh as he drags Barry up, and then forces him back down.

The sounds they make are lewd, the slapping of Barry’s cock against Chad’s stomach as he bounces up and down, spearing himself on Chad’s lap. Pre-come is leaking out, spilling over his hand when he grasps himself. He’s a sight to see. Flushed over, a wanton image, the pure look of debauchery.

Chad pistons his hips up faster, knowing he’s hitting Barry’s prostate over and over again. Barry goes limp and just takes it.

Eagerly, he takes what he can. His cock now sliding in easily. Barry manages to choke out a small noise, before he drops his pretty, curved mouth open and  _comes_.

_Yes, Barry. Come for me, baby._

When Barry comes, his tight asshole pulsates around Chad’s cock, milking him for all he’s worth. Chad grits his teeth, biting down again, marking Barry red in one more spot. He feels himself spill inside Barry, he feels his come fill the body straddling him, strong thighs squeezing.

Outside, the traffic light turns to a stop and the red light floods the room. It shadows them, bathing them in the hue.

Barry is looking at him, eyes hooded, his tongue lazily licking the corners of his own red lips.

He’s beautiful.

_You look so fucking ruined, Barry. I made you like this. You’re mine. You’re mine._

This time Barry is the one to answer:  _yes_.

\---

**I.**

As a child, when he was frightened, he would close his eyes – shut them very tightly – unwilling to open them until he was reassured. When he did that, he would see a film of red behind his eyes. He always thought it was what the inside of his eyelids looked like. He can make it a vibrant red when he looks towards a source of light.  

That’s what Barry sees now. A harsh light is being shone above him, and he hears the clanking of surgical knives on a metal tray. He wants to open his eyes badly, to see Chad’s face that he knows is hovering over him.

“Hey Barry,” he hears Chad say, “You’re going to be okay, man. You’re going to be just fine. Just hold on to my hand, okay? Don’t let go, keep squeezing it, okay?”

Even with his eyes shut, he can tell Chad doesn’t believe his own words. He knows he says them only to convince himself.

He faintly registers a strong grip in his own. It feels like home. It fits, molds itself perfectly with Barry’s, and it’s warm. Even as his own is getting colder.

For some reason he’s not afraid, and he wants to open his eyes and tell Chad not to sound so worried. That he’ll be okay. He’ll just have to trust him. He knows it’ll be okay.

Barry squeezes as long as he can.

\---

**+1**

“Have you ever felt older than you really are?” Barry asks.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Chad says.

They settle into a silence.

Then the familiar sound of Daniela’s heels was coming down the hall. Barry and Chad both look up from their lunches where they are sitting at Chad’s desk.

“Hope you boys are enjoying your lunch break,” Daniela says as she steps into the room, her green eyes narrowing slightly at the messy desk. “Commander Huber has another mission for you.”

“Commander Huber is a dick,” Chad and Barry both groan at the same time, and then burst out laughing. Some kind of large, chunky food particle flies forth from Chad’s open mouth, his eyes crinkles at the edges. There’s something alive about him that Barry hasn’t seen in a while. He feels comforted to see it again.

Daniela rolls her eyes, mouth turned up in disgust, and she tosses a dossier on the table; narrowly missing Barry’s soup, then leaves the room.

Pushing aside his lunch and random stacks of paper, Chad picks up the folder and languidly flips through the notes. His eyebrows rise up high as he progresses further in.

“Dude,” Chad laughs, his eyes still scanning the page.

“What?” Barry asks as he wipes his mouth on a napkin.

“You’re gonna love this,” Chad says and holds out the folder towards him.

“What is it?” Barry says and takes it, scanning the page quickly.

Oh fuck no.

Barry groans and bangs his head on the table, this time, not so narrowly missing his soup. He feels some of the hot liquid slosh into his hair.

Chad laughs and dabs the napkin that was balled up in his hand on Barry’s wet hair. Then he runs his hand through; checking to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

“Oh come on,” He says, and Barry looks up. His eyes are so blue and Barry swallows a lump in his throat. He feels a thumb caress the skin of his head. It’s soft and brief, stirring through his short hair as Chad continues, “It’ll be my first undercover mission, it’s gonna be fun.”

At that moment, he may or may not have leaned slightly into the hand cradling the crown of his head.

“Plus,” Chad says, “We both look good in red.”

 

 

 


End file.
